


Egress

by quietcactus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietcactus/pseuds/quietcactus
Summary: “We’ve been together for years, I think I’m stuck with him at this point,” Asahi replied, wearing the first easy smile Nishinoya had seen in a long time. Daichi grumped beside them, but was grinning. Nishinoya companionably bumped his arm against Asahi’s.“Asahi, I’m afraid you’re stuck with all of us.”Or, snapshots of growing up and around each other





	Egress

Nishinoya Yuu was intrigued when he learned he could be more than a receiver.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but after seeing another libero perform a fadeaway set, Nishinoya was convinced he could add this move to his repertoire. He would never have Kageyama’s pinpoint accuracy, but Nishinoya wasn’t one of the best liberos in their league for nothing. Nishinoya tried to think of it as a different kind of receive. This overhand toss was a return borne more from finger pads and flight than solid wrists guiding always to center. Nishinoya knew the best way to understand a move was to practice until his arms darkened with bruises and he struggled to drag air into his lungs. He didn’t come as a pair set the way Hinata and Kageyama did, but there were other spikers with whom Nishinoya could begin perfecting his skills.

Practice was starting to slow in pace, which Nishinoya knew was his chance to give it a try. While pressing himself into a butterfly stretch, Nishinoya tilted his head left to talk to Tanaka, who grumbled audibly in the same position.

“Tanaka, I wanna try something new, you mind sticking around after we’re done to help?” Nishinoya murmured, trying not to draw attention. His inner thighs twinged unhappily. He wasn’t interested in announcing a new skill until he was positive he could do it reasonably well (or better yet, flawlessly).

“Would if I could, man, but if I don’t finish that math assignment tonight, I’m cooked,” Tanaka apologized, his grimace indicating which activity he’d rather do. Nishinoya made a reciprocating moue of displeasure, but didn’t argue. Frankly, he knew he had to work on his math as much as Tanaka. But homework was boring and when would he ever need trigonometry in real life—triangles were for shoujo relationships his little sister read. 

Nishinoya huffed, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll find another time to work on it.” 

A slight cough from his right caught Nishinoya’s attention. Obliques wailing, Nishinoya turned to face Asahi, who glanced nervously in his direction. Asahi had the air of someone who had sidled into a conversation by accident but was piqued enough to eavesdrop by choice. 

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Asahi admitted, looking just past Nishinoya’s shoulder, “But if there’s something I can help with, I’m happy to stick around. No one likes math anyway.” 

Nishinoya grinned, a little surprised. “Excellent. We’ll wait ‘til the group is clearing out before getting into it. You feelin’ up to spiking some more tonight?”

Asahi’s face lit, softening strong features. 

“Always.”

Stretches complete, the team started dispersing toward the club room. Nishinoya lingered around the ball cart, taking his time rolling it back toward the closet. He noticed Asahi left with Daichi and Suga and began to wonder if Asahi forgot—or, more likely, lost his nerve for some reason.

But Nishinoya was clearly of little faith because as soon as this thought crossed his mind, Asahi poked his head back into the gym as if afraid of interrupting something. Asahi relaxed when he saw Nishinoya was there. 

“Oh good, for a second I wasn’t sure if you were still around,” Asahi sighed with relief, wandering in his direction. 

_Why would I leave if I asked you to stay?_

“Right on time!” Nishinoya said, taking charge. “So we’re going to have moments when our setter’s out for whatever reason, right? But what if I could learn how to overhand toss as a setter like Aoba Johsai’s? Even if Kageyama’s all in workin’ order, it would help to have that element of surprise.”

Asahi’s eyes widened, looking impressed. “Can you do that?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Nishinoya scoffed. 

_I have no clue. But I should be able to._

The two boys fell into an easy rhythm resetting the equipment. It was a companionable silence, one with which Nishinoya wasn’t sure what to do. When he was with Tanaka, it was all noise and turbulence, rapid waters tumbling over river rocks. With Asahi, it was more muted—something which Nishinoya assumed he would automatically dislike. For Nishinoya, silence was usually reserved for three things: studying, rainy days, and disappointment. Nishinoya watched Asahi from a distance, musing about the easy way Asahi moved when he thought no one was watching. For having such long limbs, he didn’t carry that awkward bag-of-coat-hangers posture that typically characterized guys their age hitting a growth spurt. Nishinoya supposed for Asahi, he had always been the biggest kid in the room. Although Tsukishima, for example, was even taller, the younger boy was all lean, mile-long leg. Asahi, on the other hand, was _built_. It explained why so many people assumed he was either older or (laughably) dangerous. 

But Nishinoya had seen Asahi legitimately tear up when he thought their team bus ran over a raccoon once. And if anyone knew what it was like to be judged solely based on stature, Nishinoya had that knowledge in spades. 

So, lesson learned about making assumptions. 

Once the net squeaked into place, Nishinoya rolled the ball cart away from it. 

“Ok, Asahi, just pretend you’re setting to Kageyama or Suga and we’ll go from there,” Nishinoya instructed.

“Sure, I’ll try,” the older boy replied, grabbing a ball. His stance shifted from relaxed to anticipating. With a practiced flick, Asahi tossed a high ball toward Nishinoya and immediately set for takeoff. In that split-second, Nishinoya realized he didn’t actually know what to do. He was more of an act first, think on it later kind of guy anyway. Nishinoya was suddenly too conscious of the attack line and attempting to spring the ball in an unfamiliar direction. 

_What the hell_ , Nishinoya bemoaned to himself as he made an ungraceful, one-footed jump away from the line— _crap too close to the net_ —before whacking the ball in Asahi’s general position. What resulted was Nishinoya stumbling into the net, fingers clutching for purchase in the strings, and Asahi making a bizarre, aborted leap upon seeing the ball sail well past his arm. He looked like a deer that bounded out of the woods straight into headlights.

Both boys stood in place, Nishinoya still clinging to the net and Asahi blinking. The older boy slowly straightened, shoulders drawing up as he looked off toward the ball. For a moment, Nishinoya actually thought Asahi was somehow bothered by how appalling that just looked. Instead, Asahi’s shoulders began to shake slightly and he glanced back at Nishinoya, bark brown eyes crinkling at the corners. 

_That big dumb tree is laughing at me_. Nishinoya pointedly brushed off his shirt and strode back to his starting point. “Quit your smirking,” he half-heartedly scowled, bending at the knees to prepare for launch. 

“Sorry! Sorry,” Asahi replied, sounding a bit contrite. “That was just a warm up.”

Asahi once again sent the ball soaring. Nishinoya was primarily intent on jumping correctly behind the attack line—the actual setting was its own ability. While Nishinoya didn’t flail quite so dramatically, the ball was just high enough that Asahi’s fingers swept the ball in such a way it curled behind him. The third try, the ball was more appropriately placed, but Asahi couldn’t force the ball above the net. The fourth, fifth, umpteenth attempts were met with similar difficulties: Nishinoya was past the line, the ball fell too awkwardly to the spiker, said spiker couldn’t cleanly connect. And without fail, at least every other effort was met with a murmured apology from the older boy. But whenever Nishinoya made a vague flapping hand in apology, Asahi quickly assured him he was improving with each round. 

From just about anyone else, Nishinoya imagined discontent would have surfaced ages ago. Tanaka surely would have jested by now that setting was clearly not Nishinoya’s calling. And yet here was Asahi with a sheen of sweat across his brow, arms and legs aching from repetition—and not once complaining. Asahi’s acquiescence to what must have been a torturous endeavor was frustrating Nishinoya. _No one_ was this easygoing. Nishinoya felt a flare of embarrassment flush his cheeks. What must he look like—this supposed genius or deity or whatever-the-fuck it was they called him these days—to fail so miserably without end in sight? Nishinoya wasn’t one to suffer feelings of inferiority lightly.

“Would you quit saying ‘sorry’ already? I get it. This looks like shit. I’m trying,” Nishinoya snarled, presuming what Asahi was too polite to say aloud. 

Asahi just paused, water bottle half-raised to his mouth, lips tightening. The older boy studiously looked off past the net, but Nishinoya could see a clench in his cheek. It was Asahi’s stubbled jaw more than the clock that let Nishinoya know just how long the two of them had been at work. 

Nishinoya exhaled loudly through his nose and stalked back once more to the cart. “One more,” he wearily conceded, hoping he hadn’t just lost his ally. 

But Asahi, without hesitation, lined up, ball primed for action. The ball flew, Nishinoya made a valiant leap, and promptly tripped over himself and tumbled to the court. His palms burned from friction. Nishinoya heard more than saw Asahi come running up to him, leaning over just as Nishinoya looked up. The two stared at each other, teetering on the tipping point of fatigue and irritation. Asahi thrust his hand down for Nishinoya to take.

“You’re right,” Asahi said, voice tight, “You’ve looked better.” 

Nishinoya waited a beat, waited for more, but it didn’t come. Asahi continued to hold out his hand, though his eyes looked strained the longer Nishinoya stared at him. Nishinoya felt like an ass. He knew they were done for the night. Blowing a blustery breath in defeat, Nishinoya blindly reached up to clasp Asahi’s hand. 

Instead, Nishinoya overshot and grabbed Asahi’s forearm, slicked with sweat. Nishinoya fumbled, skimming his fingers down Asahi’s wrist. Asahi grunted, arm twitching, but he didn’t withdraw. Nishinoya could feel his pulse racing—which, he supposed, made sense considering how long they had been at work. To prevent further awkwardness, Nishinoya finally gripped Asahi’s hand so as to be drawn up. Asahi’s hand engulfed his own, tanned fingers warm and roughened. With a smooth draw, Asahi lifted him from the floor, an easy show of mindless strength. 

Nishinoya felt unsteady, as if half asleep. The gym was cavernous; what once echoed with movement was now thick with silence and darkening corners. Without others milling around to compare, Asahi seemed to take all the space in the room: broad shoulders, damp shirt clinging to his wide chest, impossibly dark eyes. Nishinoya couldn’t believe that Asahi, for someone who so aptly blended into a crowd, could ever be overlooked. A rush of unexpected fondness swept through Nishinoya. His behemoth of a friend had stayed with him, tolerating his irascible mood. Nishinoya’s chest tightened with gratitude for having this moment with Asahi—to practice, to needle, to share a passion. 

Nishinoya swung his head to find the clock, even though the time wouldn’t have changed anything. “Let’s call it quits,” he announced, “We’re gonna call this a work in progress.”

Asahi gifted him a weary smile. “I’m not going to fight you on this one.” 

Nishinoya meant to give him a thumbs-up but realized he and Asahi were still holding hands. With a choked laugh, Nishinoya reclaimed his hand, muttered thanks, and turned about-face. In unspoken agreement, the two boys began breaking down equipment for good. Nishinoya’s palm still tingled. He must have hit the ground harder than he thought. He scrubbed his hand against his shorts. As he came out of the closet, Nishinoya saw Asahi waiting for him at the gym door. The gym’s fluorescent lights contrasted harshly with the twilit night awaiting them. Nishinoya slowed his pace toward the door. A small part of him felt that as soon as he and Asahi took their separate paths home, life would resume and erase this odd, lingering flutter in his stomach. 

“You ready?” Asahi asked as Nishinoya finally neared.

Nishinoya nodded yes.

 _I don’t know._

***

The vice principal was coming. The sheriff no one wanted.

What once was a team full of forgotten boys and “degenerates” was now becoming one of Karasuno’s crown jewels. They even had their own king to prove it. Thus, it was appropriate for their vice principal to make the rounds and laud himself over his fine leadership, for surely he was (somehow) responsible for the volleyball team’s latest gains in prowess. 

The vice principal had decided to visit one of their practices under the guise of praising his young wards. It didn’t take a genius, however, to see that putting faces to names and actually seeing volleyball in action would help him illustrate to the Board how he (alone, of course) had (more or less) singlehandedly raised these (poor, lost) boys through mentorship (and by leaving them alone). 

Practice itself did not differ significantly than usual. If Tanaka was a bit less brazen with his language or Daichi more obliging of long-suffering questions, who was their visitor to know. The school administrator was attempting to be subtle in blotting sticky sweat from his brow. No matter the temperature outdoors, the air in the gym was swampy. 

To most everyone’s gratitude, the vice principal clung to Takeda’s side as he was both an academic professional and far too polite to be anything but accommodating. Ukai happily let him bear that burden and focused on the team, bellowing instructions without remorse. 

Nishinoya didn’t usually hold much stock in authority figures—his volleyball team excepting—but he couldn’t help but keep one eye on the vice principal. Suspension was still fresh in mind. Now that the team was ever-rapidly slotting their gears into a working machine, it was possible being kicked from the team again would actually kill Nishinoya. So if being on his best behavior was paramount, Nishinoya may have thrown in a few extra rolling thunders and rakishly grinned at the vice principal when the older man involuntarily _oohed._

It almost became a game for the older boys on the team to see how well they could engender goodwill with the vice principal while still actually practicing. Admittedly, their team tended to do some of their best work with an audience, even if said audience didn’t know the difference between a spike and a set.

This should have been the best of both worlds for Nishinoya: he got to throw himself into the game when the camaraderie with his teammates was at a high. And yet, something felt slightly askew with one teammate in particular. 

He and Asahi had spoken several times since that late night in the gym. Nishinoya still riled that glass heart and Asahi still gave him humorously woe begotten looks when he felt the teasing was too much. It was usually an easy balance they struck. But when Nishinoya was to Asahi’s back, he was more mindful of how Asahi interacted with others while competing. 

When Kageyama groused at Asahi for an off-kilter spike, Asahi still quivered, even though they all knew at this point it was more the younger boy’s insecurity than ire. As Kageyama would pester Asahi for more specific instructions on perfecting his set, Asahi would slowly relax, canting a hip and tilting his head in genuine consideration. When Tanaka praised Asahi for a particularly fierce spike, Asahi scuffed his shoe in pleased embarrassment. Hinata, of course, was in awe of their ace and did wonderful things for Asahi’s confidence, even if the older boy wasn’t aware of it. Hinata would be singing the ace’s praises and Asahi would deprecatingly lift a hand to tug on his bun, stuttering through acceptance of compliments, cheeks tinged pink. This posture would put Asahi’s torso in stark relief, his shirt riding up to sneak a sliver of toned stomach. Maybe Asahi should invest in some bigger shirts. Nishinoya didn’t think they were supposed to fit that tightly. 

When Nishinoya and Asahi first returned from their respective hiatuses, Asahi walked on eggshells around Nishinoya. They never really spoke about that fateful day in the closet after Date Tech, but through sheer willpower and collaboration, they found an efficient groove. 

It seemed after that night of libero-sets, however, that Asahi didn’t quite know what to do with Nishinoya. When he looked back at Nishinoya, he would go from some variation of wavering smile to heated face to awkward little wave of his hand. It was tricky for Nishinoya to identify what was happening. It wasn’t quite the hangdog caution Asahi used to wear when he felt he had let the team down. If Nishinoya had to guess, he would almost say it looked like Asahi was too considerate of him, too nice perhaps. It felt like two steps back and Nishinoya didn’t like it. Nervous Asahi made _him_ nervous, though of what he didn’t know.

When the team moved to practicing spikes, Nishinoya took his place on the other side of the net. Ukai threw a toss and Tsukishima ran up, delivering a clean hit. He was followed by Hinata—excitable as always—then Daichi—dependable, solid foundation—then Ennoshita et al. Then, it was Asahi. 

Nishinoya didn’t have as much occasion to see this, but if he really paid attention, he could see this flash of conversion in Asahi’s form before sprinting. It was a flicker, blink-and-you-miss-it kind of moment. One way to look at it was that Asahi’s greatest power came from shutting down. Before departure, Asahi thought too much, it was clear behind his eyes and from the furrow in his brow. It was a worry which escorted a deeper anxiety Nishinoya honestly didn’t understand. As soon as Asahi accelerated, worry blanked and muscle memory reigned, the way a hand jerks from a hot burner before the mind knows it’s searing. Ball would meet hand and the ball would always lose. 

Another, admittedly more whimsical, way of looking at it was to say Asahi had his own kind of magic. Volleyball was a charm, one which conjured fierce strength from the meekest of boys. Now that Asahi was no longer laden with guilt from Date Tech days, he was strength incarnate, a captivating sight. For the briefest of seconds, when Asahi was at peak height, they locked eyes. Nishinoya felt a frisson of anticipation run through him. Spikers may have the glory, but receivers really knew who had the most thrilling job.

Asahi’s eyes flicked away in an attempt to aim, to find a chink in armor. Nishinoya wasn’t their libero for nothing. Asahi would make him work for it, of that he was sure. The spiker let a yell rip from his throat as his body heaved, banishing the ball. Nishinoya dove, catching one wrist underneath before impact. His wrist fucking burned, but the ball still soared toward an invisible setter. 

_“Whooo,”_ came a bird-like call from Tanaka, grinning from the sidelines. “Whatcha trying to do, Asahi, break his arm off?”

Asahi twisted around to look at Tanaka and, like a snap of fingers, the spell faded and timidity bubbled back to the surface. He huffed a laugh, shoulders stooping slightly. 

“He’s got two arms, doesn’t he? We all know he’d manage just fine with one, anyway,” Asahi rejoined, risking a quick glance back at Nishinoya, who was pushing himself off the court. Whatever smile was tugging at Asahi’s lips was slowly fading. His face looked—off, for lack of a better word. Nishinoya frowned in response. He was getting tired of this. He wanted a response from Asahi that wasn’t so…apprehensive.

“Hey Asahi, maybe you should try getting the point instead of hitting right at the receiver.” Nishinoya was aiming for jocular but knew he sounded flat. Barbed. 

Asahi froze. He saw Hinata’s jaw drop slightly. Suga and Daichi just laughed, Daichi slapping Asahi across the back. “It’s never enough for our libero, is it,” Daichi teased him gently, giving Asahi a kind smile but sending Nishinoya a raised eyebrow. 

Asahi weakly chuckled, responding with a tremulous smile. “Oh, I’m not supposed to aim for the receiver? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” 

The others joined in to laugh, easily following Daichi’s cues for humor. Asahi didn’t turn back to look at Nishinoya this time. Nishinoya’s stomach panged with guilt. Damn it, that wasn’t what he was going for either. He wanted a bit of bite or friendly riposte, not—this. A little sad. Hurt.

_I don’t know how to fix this._

“Can everyone gather, please!” Takeda called out to the group. “Our vice principal would like to share a few words with us before he departs.”

The team gratefully stood at rest in a half circle, taking this chance to fully breathe. Nishinoya stood between Tanaka and Yamaguchi. He leaned forward slightly, as if sagging under fatigue, but he darted tawny eyes to look over at Asahi to his right. The taller boy stood calmly, unaware of his observer. 

The vice principal _hrmphed_ to gain their attention. “My boys, you have done your school proudly through your latest achievements. I’m sure you’ve heard me say, through hard work and perseverance, you are capable of anything you put your minds to. I always knew you would accomplish great things.” Tanaka made a small choking noise in the back of his throat. 

“A-and we thank you for your support, sir,” Takeda acknowledged. The team murmured their own _thank yous_ and bowed. The vice principal turned back to Takeda to continue their conversation while Ukai directed clean up. But before Nishinoya could wander off, he felt a hard hand clamp on his shoulder. He spun around and looked up at Ukai, whose other hand was preventing Asahi from escaping as well. 

“Boys, great practice,” Ukai started, eyes too bright. As he dragged them away from the others, he pulled them in close enough that Nishinoya could smell tobacco on his breath. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are. Go sort out the closet,” Ukai growled. Asahi looked like he was about to pass out. Nishinoya similarly felt uneasy. 

“Am I clear?” It didn’t sound like a question. Both Nishinoya and Asahi quickly nodded anyway. “Good! Now get your shit together.” He pushed them off toward the closet where Suga and Kageyama were rolling the ball carts. 

Asahi immediately moved off toward the closet, but Nishinoya took his time. _Subtle about what? What’s being hidden?_

Once inside the closet, Asahi made quick work of setting equipment in its respective places. Nishinoya took a ball cart and rolled it into the corner. Asahi kept his back to him. 

“What’s going on?” Nishinoya blurted out. 

Asahi whipped around, blinking. “What?”

“This,” Nishinoya said, flapping his hand between them, “This thing. You’re being weird.” Asahi pursed his lips in response.

“I don’t know what you want from me. If you’d just tell me, I’d try to fix it,” Asahi sighed.

Nishinoya threw his hands up. “ _That!_ That thing! With your face and your—” Nishinoya exaggerated rounding his shoulders, “Whatever this is. I thought we were doing better!”

“We _were!_ ” Asahi snapped, “So just tell me what I did to piss you off and we can move on.” 

“ _What?_ ” Nishinoya didn’t screech, but a bystander might say otherwise. “Me, upset? Aren’t you the one who’s upset with me?”

Asahi sucked in a breath to respond when they heard heavy footsteps and raised voices getting closer.

“—course not, sir! No problems here, I’m sure some of the guys are just getting excited over something,” they heard Daichi just outside the closet. Daichi poked his head in, snorting when he saw who was arguing.

He looked straight at them. “Nope, nothing going on here, sir! I’m just going to lock up and I’ll walk out with you before finishing up here,” Daichi called back to the vice principal. His voice was pleasant. 

His eyes said _I will kill you._

Daichi proceeded to flick off the lights from outside, close the closet door, and lock them in. 

Nishinoya blinked heavily, adjusting to the sudden darkness. There was a faint line of light beneath the doors, but otherwise it was nearly pitch black. Silent.

“What the actual fuck?” asked Nishinoya.

“Are we supposed to just…stay here?” Asahi replied, incredulous. 

“Well this is bullshit.” Nishinoya refused to sulk but was glad Asahi couldn’t see him scrunch his face. Nishinoya reached out a hand, blindly feeling his way to the wall before sliding down it to sit. Asahi was a statue, a towering silhouette in shadow. “Would you just come over here already? Looks like we’re going nowhere fast.” 

For a moment Asahi didn’t move and Nishinoya was afraid he was just going to stand alone in the darkness. Asahi sighed again and moved slowly toward his voice, grumbling when he ran into a box. As he neared the wall, Nishinoya reached out to grab his ankle with the intent of orienting him. Asahi’s whole body shook as he yelped, lashing his leg out and kicking Nishinoya in the side. 

“ _Damn it_ , I’m tryin’ to help, just sit down already.” Asahi eventually made an ungraceful move to a seated position near Nishinoya. They weren’t quite touching, but Nishinoya could feel his body heat radiate across the distance. His ribs ached. 

It was still but not peaceful. Nishinoya imagined Asahi was tense, limbs stiffened because it was too dark or they may be forgotten or, well, Nishinoya was being awfully tetchy with him.

“So. You seem anxious,” Nishinoya offered, finding the silence unbearable. 

Asahi made a low sound, though Nishinoya wasn’t sure if it was from annoyance or dismay. “What else is new?” Asahi queried, sounding defeated. Nishinoya swallowed a snappy retort.

“I thought we were doing pretty good, especially with the setting practice,” Nishinoya said instead. “I mean, it was a long night and all, but I really appreciated you helping me out, even though I was shit at it.” 

He heard a rustle of clothing. “What are you talking about? Nishinoya, I don’t think you could be, well, _‘shit_ ’ at anything.” A pause. “I…I thought you’ve been upset with me, though I couldn’t really pinpoint it. I thought maybe I wasn’t helpful enough the other night? I know Tanaka or really anyone would have been a better partner for that. I would’ve been frustrated with me, too.” 

Nishinoya was stunned. If volleyball wasn’t enough to release pressure from nerves, Nishinoya could resort to outward expressions that were…disagreeable. It came with being bold about everything: he laughed hard, he loved hard, he played hard, and he definitely sassed hard. Asahi, on the other hand, clearly internalized everything until it consumed him. 

_We’re both idiots_. “We’re both idiots,” Nishinoya said aloud. He wanted to look Asahi in the eye but settled for slowly scooting over until they touched, shoulder to knee. Asahi was as rigid as he predicted. 

“Asahi, do you even realize how much you have to give? You’re like, the nicest person I know. You have so much kindness, it just follows wherever you go. You staying with me to practice setting was an example of it.” Nishinoya could feel his face flushing at the admission, but figured the darkness aided honesty. Nishinoya bit his lip. “I know I can be a bit…much, especially when I’m frustrated. It’s nothin’ personal. I just…man, I want you to see how great you are. Just stand up for yourself more.”

Asahi took a shuddering breath and Nishinoya thought that was it, he just broke his teammate, pushed him too far. 

“I…thank you,” Asahi started, his voice gruff. “It’s not…not that. Sometimes I look at you and think what it must be like to be you, all full of life and so open. I really envy that about you. And, well, I do take things a bit too much to heart. Wish I didn’t, but can’t really fix it the way I’d like to. Sometimes…” he trailed off, long enough Nishinoya thought he wasn’t going to finish. Asahi cleared his throat. “Sometimes, I wish I could wake up one morning and be someone totally different, be a better me, someone who was easy with people and felt good about himself.”

Nishinoya felt a pull in his stomach. He supposed he was fortunate that he didn’t struggle with exactly what Asahi felt, but he also knew most people their age desperately yearned to be something more than what they were. He’d be lying if he said he never felt it himself. 

Emboldened by his candor, Nishinoya leaned more heavily into Asahi, grounding them both. 

“You’re just catching me in my element,” Nishinoya shared, “I think I was made for volleyball, you know? It’s always made sense to me and the people who play make me want to be better. That includes you, too,” he added. “If I didn’t have volleyball and what came with it, I don’t think I’d feel that good about myself, either.” 

“It wasn’t for that long, but when I was off the team, it was the _worst_.” Asahi agreed. 

They quieted save for their breathing. It was actually quite cozy, a place Nishinoya wouldn’t mind napping in. His nose tickled from dust motes. He supposed he still preferred this to homework. 

There lull was broken when Asahi spoke in a rush, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“I think we’re just, you know, sitting here for now,” Nishinoya murmured, his forefinger tracing mindless patterns on a floor he couldn’t see. 

“No, I know that, I mean. You know. I don’t. Never mind,” Asahi stumbled, voice a decrescendo. 

Nishinoya was familiar with Asahi’s staccato cues. “Use your words, big guy.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“That’s a lie straight from your mouth. C’mon. I can’t say I won’t laugh but I’ll be nice about it, promise.” 

Asahi breathed heavily through his nose but didn’t reply. Nishinoya assumed some errant thoughts were warring for articulation, a battle between affirmation of thought and fear of rejection. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do once I graduate,” Asahi finished, already sounding defeated.

 _What_. “Uh, where’s that coming from?” Nishinoya asked, trying to catch up. 

“I…Never mind.” 

“Bullshit. C’mon, man, safe space here,” Nishinoya disagreed. “Besides, I’m like 90% sure Daichi just forgot about us here. I’m not going anywhere.” Sitting pressed against Asahi was almost stifling in its heat, but Nishinoya felt oddly comforted by the contact. 

Asahi made a tuneless hum, stalling for time or organizing his thoughts. 

“Suga and Daichi, they’re so smart, they’re going to go places. They know they’re going to get into good colleges and make new friends and just figure everything out. But I’m not that smart. I’m not going to college and I’ll live in this small town forever. I feel like my feet are stuck in cement and everyone’s walking by me and I can’t move and I’m just watching everyone move on. I’m just going to be left behind.” Asahi took a shaky breath, but Nishinoya could hear his voice sounded a little wet, too.

Nishinoya tried to think of what made him feel better when he was this upset. He was also aware this was a fragile moment he could easily fracture. He moved his hand from his lap to pat Asahi’s knee, deciding to leave it there.

“I don’t know what kind of grades you’re getting, but clearly it’s better than me if you don’t need remediation to go to training, right? I mean, the only way _I’m_ getting into to college is through a sports scholarship. And I know you’re gonna disagree with me, but you’re _really good_ at volleyball. You’re our ace and have, like, crippling anxiety and stuff. Imagine how great you could be if you believed in yourself. So the real question is, do you actually not want to go to college or are you assuming you just can’t get in?”

“Get out of my head,” Asahi bit out, but it lacked heat.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” Nishinoya continued, building steam. Feelings were hard but this sounded like something he could help with, maybe. “You still got time to study and get your grades as best as you can. And even if you can’t, you still have volleyball, so find a college—any college—that’ll let you continue to play. You’re really nice, you’ll make friends wherever you go. And then when I graduate, I’ll go to the same school as you and we’ll resume our reign of terror. Best offense and best defense, right? We’ll be unstoppable.” 

“Nishinoya, you can’t just say things like that. You’re not just good at volleyball, you’re _gifted_. You have real talent. You could go anywhere you want. You’re going to get offers from the best schools.”

Nishonoya felt his chest tighten at “gifted,” had mixed feelings about the accolades (and pressure) that placed on him. He couldn’t listen to this, wouldn’t accept hearing a friend—and an amazing one at that—speaking about himself this way. Nishinoya turned to face him, feeling his eyes prick with tears.

“Then _you_ go to the best school there is. You go out there and kick ass and reach as high as you fucking can. Or you can find a job in town and join the Neighborhood team. Either’s good. Whatever it is, just pick a point and run toward it. I know you’ll find your way wherever you go. But don’t doubt yourself so much. You broke that iron wall once before, right? 

“I think it’s better to hope and be disappointed than to never feel anything at all.”

Asahi was struggling to breathe. His shadowed form was curled in on itself, stifling sobs against his arm. Nishinoya’s eyes were burning. This wasn’t just momentary anxiety. This was a deeper-founded fear of never realizing his potential or worse—feeling abandoned when already adrift. Nishinoya leaned his full weight against Asahi, unsure of anything else to say. He wasn’t sure how he found himself in this position.

Time lost meaning in their obscurity. Nishinoya had no idea if they had been there for 10 minutes or an hour. Asahi’s breathing began to slow, fatigued beyond crying. Nishinoya tilted his head back until it _thunked_ against the wall. He was so fucking tired. 

The two boys were quietly sharing space until they heard footsteps pounding in their direction. A pair of feet interrupted the beam of light beneath the door. The locked door rattled as someone tried to open it.

“Son of a—Asahi? Nishinoya? Please tell me you’re not still in there,” they heard Daichi plead from outside. 

Asahi tensed, then scrubbed a hand against his face. Nishinoya carefully stood, feeling his knees creak. 

“You forgot us, didn’t you?” Nishinoya called out rhetorically. 

He heard a slight scratching as the key worked the lock, then the door slid open, blinding them both with light. Nishinoya shifted to the side to block Asahi in case the other boy was pretending he hadn’t just divulged his nightmare. 

“Captain, you’re actually the worst,” Nishinoya complained, putting his back to Daichi to help Asahi off the floor. Nishinoya looked down at Asahi, who was unfurling. When Asahi’s oaken eyes caught his own, they were reddened and wide. He was still clearly afraid of how Nishinoya and now Daichi would respond. Nishinoya proffered his hand, saw Asahi’s hand shake as it took his own. Asahi’s palm was clammy. 

“Woah, what happened in here?” Daichi asked, worried when he saw Asahi’s fraught complexion. 

Nishinoya spoke to Daichi but locked his eyes with Asahi. “Dude, you would not believe the huge spider we found in here. All it wanted was to be Asahi’s friend and for some reason this guy wasn’t having it. Caused a scene, they had a falling out, the whole deal. It was too much for him.” 

The relief on Asahi’s face was palpable. The older boy caught Daichi’s eyes over Nishinoya. “It was really big.”

“Oh you poor, delicate flower,” Daichi laughed, but his eyes were considering. 

“Seriously, though, did you forget us?” Nishinoya needled as he and Asahi stepped around equipment to follow Daichi out of the gym. 

Daichi scoffed. “Of course I didn’t. The vice principal is an important guest and I had to make sure he left on a positive note. If I happened to have made a detour by walking halfway home first before coming back, that’s unrelated.”

“Do you see how poorly our captain treats us?” Nishinoya directed at a subdued Asahi, trying to draw him out.

“We’ve been together for years, I think I’m stuck with him at this point,” Asahi replied, wearing the first easy smile Nishinoya had seen in a long time. Daichi grumped beside them, but was grinning. Nishinoya companionably bumped his arm against Asahi’s.

“Asahi, I’m afraid you’re stuck with all of us.” 

***

Every time Asahi felt he was starting to grasp what he was doing with his life, something else would tick a little off kilter. The night in the closet— _what was it with closets_ —was yet another endeavor Nishinoya and Asahi agreed, unspoken, to skirt around. No need to rehash all those feelings. If Asahi felt they had been tilting to the right from friendly acquaintance to snarky after the libero sets, they now seemed to pendulum swing back to that initial happy medium. 

Except sometimes, Asahi felt it was moving more in the opposite direction and he had no clue what that meant. 

Asahi was terribly envious of Nishinoya’s “wildness;” he was not a guy one could overlook, despite his height. The spiked hair, his will-not-be-ignored presence, those luminous eyes. Nishinoya had an infectious enthusiasm about himself that pulled you in like the tide. 

Why it was all Asahi could see these days, he didn’t care to peer at too closely. 

Asahi felt a simmering uncertainty in the way his friendship with Nishinoya was evolving. He couldn’t tell anymore if this was how they always had been before Date Tech or if they were drawing new, if relatively minor, intrigue the way Tsukishima did when he sat for a while without his glasses. His face was the same, but it was just different and new enough to give pause. 

Asahi was not one to touch others lightly. He may slap hands with a teammate after a thrilling play or offer a hand of assistance, but that was usually the extent. Historically it was only with those whom he was most comfortable—the rare Daichi’s and Suga’s of the world—that hugging was admissible. Lately, if pressed, Asahi would tentatively admit that Nishinoya seemed to touch him more. A more confident man would readily acknowledge such occurrences. Asahi was worried he obsessed over inconsequential moments, fabricating epics from mere words. 

When passing by, Nishinoya would slap Asahi on the back for luck or a job well done, a sharp smack that sometimes stung his shoulder blade. If they were sitting during one of Ukai’s strategy sessions and their coach made a comment about how to use Asahi, Nishinoya would pat Asahi’s knee in agreement if they were next to each other (which they seemed to be more often). If Nishinoya ran into Asahi in the halls on the way to practice and the older boy wasn’t moving fast enough for Nishinoya’s taste, Nishinoya just grabbed his bicep and towed him in his wake. 

Nishinoya was always _touching_. Easily, without thought, as if drawing energy from such contact. Asahi urged himself to consider the ways Nishinoya was wont to do this with just about everyone, especially Tanaka. He was free with himself in a way that sometimes made Asahi ache with want. Not necessarily to be the recipient, but to have such comfort in one’s bones that touching was more habit than conscious effort. 

Nishinoya made Asahi want to be better. Not just on the court, but in his life and how he moved forward. They wouldn’t talk about the closet, but Nishinoya’s words had sunken into him like a weight in water, a steady pull to deeper, darker depths before settling in silt. It was unusual for someone to challenge Asahi’s acceptance of mediocrity. His best friends and his mother were supportive in ways he feared he could never reciprocate, but such words rang with a different tone when they came from someone who was not embedded in his orbit. In some ways, it felt more genuine. When his mother praised his hard work at school, he would be pleased on a shallow level. He could take the compliment at face value, but he also suspected she felt obligated to say nice things as mothers often do. To hear such words come from a friend who was not entrenched in his personal history somehow felt more real. More meaningful. 

Conversely, when someone directed a slight in his direction—and it could be a stranger, really, it didn’t matter—it burrowed deep, a bullet festering in his gut. It was dismayingly easy to both dismiss accolades and fixate on criticisms, warranted or otherwise. 

This never felt truer than when Asahi left a meeting with his advisor to, once again, discuss post-graduation plans. In their session, Asahi readily admitted to his advisor that he couldn’t imagine himself attending college and would most likely stay put in their town. But a part of him, a plaintive whisper, desperately wished that his advisor had fought him on this, at least a little. He wanted his advisor to disagree or look displeased or anything, _anything_ that indicated he had faith in Asahi’s abilities to reach beyond what was expected of him, of what he expected from himself. 

Instead, his advisor nodded absently to Asahi’s statement and made an inscrutable note in his book. He didn’t make eye contact. This was yet another routine visit. Nothing to see here, move along. 

Asahi wandered the hall, lost in his thoughts. His stomach spasmed, a fissure of dread rending his chest. He didn’t know who or what to believe, but he was afraid that he would never find the courage to move forward. What would life look like in town? Would he be like Shimada but without self-assurance, watching his once-classmates and new players alike sweep by, eyes set on a dream he couldn’t fathom? What if he, by some distant miracle, was accepted to a college? Would he crumble under the pressure of rigorous academia? Would he attempt to join their volleyball team and be laughed away, having the world confirm that he truly was nothing special? It seemed whatever his choice, he was doomed to failure. 

Asahi’s eyes seared. His breath was sharp in his chest. He quickly turned down a hall, grateful it was unoccupied. Asahi was all too familiar with this sweep of anxiety and hated when it struck in such a public place. He leaned against a wall, staring out the window with sightless eyes. That might have been a crow flying by the window, he wasn’t sure. Pulse racing, Asahi tried remembering the worst things that had happened to him, a reminder that he had survived far more terrible events, he had survived. 

_I think I’m dying_. Asahi shut his eyes, focusing on the scald of unshed salt, pleading that this would go away. From the stairwell, Asahi heard voices rise as they neared his position. Blinking rapidly, Asahi straightened from his slouch and turned to walk in the opposition direction, refusing to be caught. He quickened his pace when he recognized the voices as his teammates’ and _my god I can’t please don’t see me_. He was sure he was in the clear—

“Yo, Asahi! Where you running off so fast?” yelled Nishinoya from behind. 

Asahi stuttered his step, faltered, then kept powering ahead. He would stop for no one. Not now. 

There was a muffled conversation, a short laugh, then voices fading and for the briefest moment Asahi was relieved—

“Dude, slow down, don’t you go acting like you can’t hear me.” 

This time Asahi fully halted, his breath a heavy sigh. So fucking close. He scrubbed his face, turning to face Nishinoya, knowing he could hide nothing. 

“What do you want, Nishinoya?” Asahi bit, voice chewing gravel. 

It was a tone Asahi seldom took, a tool he used sparingly to ward off intrusive individuals. It added credence to his “delinquent” reputation. Usually, it worked to deter others when he felt raw and exposed. 

Nishinoya just squinted, unperturbed. “Quit it, who do you think you’re scaring, you’re scaring no one.” But his voice was low, a gentle admonishment. He paused, tilting his head a little to the side. “You wanna talk about it? Or is this a ‘closet’ thing?” 

It was the first open acknowledgement of that night. Asahi pressed his palm into cheek, feeling his face burn from crying. “Let’s just say ‘closet’ and call it a day.” 

Nishinoya kept staring up at him. His eyes made miniscule movements, connected with his, looked past his shoulder, looked at his nose, looked lower, looked up again. Asahi wilted under the scrutiny, succumbing to fatigue. It was a hell of a lot less difficult to just let Nishinoya in when he had a foot in the door already. 

Finally, Nishinoya gave a decisive nod, mouth curling into a small smile Asahi had never seen before. Asahi hoped it was a secret all their own, a shared trust which vulnerability could cultivate. Asahi offered a tremulous smile of his own. 

“Ok, we’re heading over to practice soon, you comin’?” Noya asked. 

“I think I need a moment.” 

Nishinoya gave him a thumbs-up, but his hand wavered instead of lowering. Asahi was about to ask what was wrong when Nishinoya lurched forward to grab both his hands within his smaller ones. Asahi couldn’t move, wasn’t sure how to. He flicked his gaze from their joined hands back to Nishinoya, who too was staring down. It was almost comical how _tiny_ Nishinoya’s hands seemed compared to his own. _My hands are too big, they’re really sweaty, Nishinoya’s hands are warm_. Asahi felt the telltale flash of heat across his cheeks but he wasn’t embarrassed or anxious, he just felt warm. He wished he felt like this more often. 

They didn’t speak. There was no need to. 

Asahi eventually lifted his eyes to search Nishinoya’s face, seeking a glimmer of understanding. His stomach clenched, he was terribly nervous all of a sudden. Or rather, excited. No, nervous. It vacillated pretty quickly. 

Asahi didn’t hear him until he was practically at their side, but Tanaka popped into his vision without much warning. Asahi startled, jerking his hands back reflexively. 

Except Nishinoya went with him, clenching harder until his knuckles whitened around his. There was no mistaking what transpired. 

“You guys ok?” Tanaka asked. His face was devoid of judgment or innuendo. He simply looked concerned for his friends and Asahi could cry for how grateful he was to have such people in his life. 

Nishinoya jerked his head, drawing Asahi’s attention to his eyes again. Amber caught oak. 

“We’re having a closet moment here, move along.” 

Tanaka choked out a short laugh. “I don’t know what that means.”

Unflappable, Nishinoya said, “We’re fine, I’ll be with you in a sec’. You just wish this was you and Kiyoko, ya jealous bastard,” and Tanaka guffawed loudly. 

“Very true. Don’t be late or Ukai’s gonna bite you in the ass.” Tanaka grinned, making sure to look at both Nishinoya and Asahi respectively. 

“Duly noted,” Asahi croaked. 

Tanaka gave them a half-assed salute and trotted off. Nishinoya coughed, clapped his hands against Asahi’s once, a sharp clack, and promptly turned around after Tanaka. 

“C’mon, big guy,” he called over his shoulder. Asahi, amazed, started walking after him, long strides quickly eating the distance between them. 

Flashing back to the comparison with Kiyoko, Asahi wondered who was who in this scenario. 

***

The growl of engine beneath him, around him, was enough to lull him into a dazed state. The kind of drifting which comes from good exhaustion, when his body was spent and thoughts were snowflakes which melted in his hands. 

A long, hard practice match would do that to a person; to feel a deep ache in joints that were still adjusting to a growing boy’s body. Asahi shifted in his bus seat, angling his bent legs to the other side. Broadly speaking, Asahi didn’t think he was _that_ tall, but public transportation also wasn’t meant for outliers such as him. Long legs were dreaded things when they had no place to go. 

One of the first to board, Asahi’s thoughts wandered as he watched his teammates clamber aboard. Asahi typically took a solo seat to the side as it better allowed him to stretch unencumbered. But once he climbed in the bus, he noticed a man walking an unusually fluffy dog, something akin to a cotton ball. Asahi’s day was always brightened by the little (read: cute) things in life, so he scrambled back and over a pair of seats to get a better glimpse. Someday he would like to have a dog. He knew they were good for anxiety. Also, adorable, really. 

As the moment passed, Asahi realized it would be more trouble than not to scoot out of the seats and cut someone off, so he resigned himself to the window. At least his view would be pleasant. Dusk was approaching. He wondered at how the world seemed so muted, when flickering electricity replaced sunlight and cornflower skies were steeped in ink. The air, once thick, crisped with chill. Asahi knew how vast the world was, but it was daunting to think of ever leaving that which was so familiar. He _knew_ these hills and trees and village storefronts. He couldn’t picture his role in this landscape as an adult. Asahi felt a telltale arc of fear lance across his stomach. He wasn’t sure there _was_ any role for him on his own. 

“Don’t be such a grumpy lump,” Suga teased, leaning over the window seat directly in front of Asahi’s. The taller boy startled, blinking while reorienting himself. 

“Excuse me, I’m _not_ a grumpy lump,” Asahi huffed, feeling the corner of his mouth tick up, “Just a sleepy one is all. Let a man think in peace, Suga.” 

“Do I smell burning?” Daichi rejoined, taking his customary seat next to Suga. “Don’t strain yourself.” 

Asahi scrunched his nose, “You’re both such bossy parents.” 

“Are Mom and Dad being mean to you?” Nishinoya asked, shuffling down the bus aisle. Asahi was about to respond when, to his surprise, Nishinoya plopped himself into the seat next to him. Tanaka, hinting at no indication of change in routine, simply moved to the row behind them, whereupon Ennoshita joined him. Tanaka promptly leaned forward so his head perched between Asahi’s and Nishinoya’s. “I missed something, who’s being a dick now?” 

“Tanaka, no,” Ennoshita grumbled, pulling him back into his seat. 

“There are a lot of you right now,” Asahi voiced faintly, caught off guard. He was far more accustomed to his single seat, looking at the group instead of being surrounded by it. It was both too much and not enough. 

“Be mindful of poor Asahi’s nerves,” Suga warned, a bright eye glinting between the front seats, “he’s had a long day already.” 

“Rude,” Asahi mumbled, definitely not sulking as he sat back fully. 

Nishinoya bumped his arm companionably with his own, failing to hide a smile. Asahi’s lips twitched in response. 

“Asahi,” Nishinoya started, looking him over, “I don’t think you fit there.” 

“Not the first time, won’t be the last,” Asahi agreed, resisting the urge to shift again. 

“C’mon, switch with me, at least you can put your legs in the aisle,” Nishinoya offered, already levering himself out. 

“I—no, it’s fine, really, I don’t mind,” Asahi argued, but a muttered _liar_ that sounded suspiciously like Daichi belied his assurances. Asahi sighed, but knew it would be easier to comply. He assumed Nishinoya would move into the aisle to allow him to swap. As Asahi started to budge over, however, Nishinoya twisted and rolled over into Asahi’s lap. 

_What_. 

“Dude, keep moving,” Nishinoya griped, slim arms bracketing Asahi’s head for balance, one leg not-quite straddling. 

Asahi stared dumbly at Nishinoya’s chest, hyperaware that everything in his vision was Nishinoya and he couldn’t identify it but Nishinoya smelled nice and it was all too much. Asahi jerked his head up in panic and saw Nishinoya looked down at him, waiting. 

Asahi couldn’t breathe. Seconds spanned eons. It was too hot. His stomach clenched again, but he knew it wasn’t fear but something darker that made his pulse jump. Something urged him to reach up and brace Nishinoya’s hips with his hands, to steady him, grip him, pull him closer. 

Instead he squeaked, forcing his hip over to finally allow Nishinoya to plunk into his vacated seat. Asahi stared blankly at the seatback, circuits sparking to jumpstart cogency. The dull roar of ambient noise came back to him. No one seemed to notice anything untoward. Asahi was relieved that this moment was his own. He lifted his hand to his neck, middle and ring fingers pressing into his jugular with practiced ease. It comforted Asahi in moments of distress, to slow his breathing until he could physically feel the throb of blood against his fingertips slow into a semblance of normalcy. Without thinking, he uncurled his left leg into the aisle to relieve a cramping ache in his knee. 

“Nishinoya!” Tanaka burst out, thrusting his head again between the seats, shaved head tilting in the smaller boy’s direction, “Did you watch—” Asahi tuned them out, grateful for a distraction. He pressed his head back, intent on dozing, grimacing when his bun tugged painfully. Looking at nothing, he pulled the elastic from his hair, running his fingers through to tease out knots. He debated pulling it back again, decided against it, and let it hang loose as he closed his eyes. Peace at last. 

“Asahi!” Tanaka chirped. Asahi cracked an eye and shrieked when he saw how close Tanaka was to his face. “Tanaka,” Asahi returned halfhearted, feeling way too tired to match Tanaka’s enthusiasm. 

“I’ve decided,” Tanaka continued, “I want you to teach me how to jump serve before you go. I’d ask Kageyama but—” and he shrugged, answer unspoken, “So maybe we can find time to figure it out? If I’m gonna be the ace when you go, I better look it!”

 _Before you go. Before you go. When you go_. “I—” Asahi started, hesitated, then gave what he hoped was a convincing smile, “Yeah, of course, I bet you’ll pick it up very quickly. You’re already better than me, so it shouldn’t be hard.” 

A hand shot out beneath Tanaka’s floating head to smack his knee. “No one’s buying what you’re selling, man, just pretend you’re actually our ace for a sec’ and go with it,” Noya voiced unseen. 

“Yes, Nishinoya,” Asahi relented, not even bothering to fight it. He was too tired, really. 

“Tanaka, sit down already,” Ennoshita growled and with a yelp Tanaka’s head shot back, “I’m tired of looking at your ass.” _That’s not what your mom said last night_ floated back amidst chortles. 

Asahi snorted an accompanying laugh, but quickly settled back. His eyes were heavy. He felt very old all of a sudden.

Eventually a team in motion came to rest, conversations tapering to whispers, whispers ending in slow breathing. Asahi lost track of time, unsure if he actually fell asleep or was in a constant limbo of semi-consciousness. He blinked hazily, tilting his head into the aisle to confirm that, yes, most of the bus was solidly asleep. Tanaka especially had a sonorous snore. He hoped Ennoshita was a heavy sleeper. 

“Hey,” Nishinoya murmured to his right, “You ok?” Looking over, he saw the libero curled in his seat, one leg folded beneath him. His spiked hair was beginning to limp from pressing into the headrest and a long day of sweating. Streetlights pulsed their glow as the bus passed, casting Nishinoya’s face in stark relief. It was in such rare moments that Nishinoya looked soft perhaps. In the light, he was effervescent and blinding. In the dark he was solemn and spellbinding; without blaring bravado and trembling energy he was approachable. He was just another boy and not a god. 

Asahi peered at him considering. “Why do you ask? Are _you_ ok?”

Nishinoya ignored him. “You seemed off when Tanaka asked about jump serves.” His muted tone had a deeper timbre than one would have expected for someone of his stature. The dark, the thrum of machine, created a pocket of intimacy. Asahi found himself leaning forward to better hear Nishinoya’s low voice. 

“It’s—” Asahi needed to learn to complete sentences without second-guessing so much. “He said ‘before you go’ and I don’t know, it’s true, but also…I don’t know.” 

“Yeah, I hear you,” Nishinoya agreed and that was enough because Asahi knew that even if Nishinoya couldn’t truly fathom the underlying crisis, he could appreciate that it was troubling to him. 

_I can do this_ , Asahi thought to himself unbidden. Emboldened by perceived secrecy, Asahi took one of Nishinoya’s hands into his own. The younger boy tensed but didn’t move. 

“Nishinoya, I don’t think I can express to you how incredible you’ve been these last months,” Asahi whispered, driven by fear of others overhearing and the rush of revelation, “You—you’re just—you make me feel like everything’s going to be okay and you don’t make me feel ashamed and I just— _thank you_ for being you. Thank you for making me think that I can be enough.” 

_Even if you’re too nice to say otherwise_ , was how he wanted to finish but bit his tongue to stop. 

They entered a stretch of road sans guiding lights. Nishinoya coughed and turned to look out the window. He didn’t take his hand from Asahi’s. It was hard to tell but Asahi might have believed he could see him blushing in the window’s reflection. Secretly he hoped Nishinoya would have a reaction, anything but detachment. 

Head still turned, Nishinoya mumbled, “You can’t just say things like that.” Asahi felt Nishinoya’s hand shift. His stomach felt leaden. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. 

But Nishinoya simply rotated his wrist until their palms touched. He laced their fingers together, still peering out the window. Asahi marveled at how comforting such simple touch could be. The moon was their only witness. 

They remained in silence until Asahi could recognize their school building in the distance. He saw Takeda stand up carefully and stretch. He knew from experience he was about to start rousing them row by row. 

Asahi felt Nishinoya tighten his grip before uncurling their fingers. Asahi was afraid to speak, to break whatever spell they had cast. 

“You know,” Nishinoya began, apropos of nothing, “You should wear your hair down more often. It suits you.” Nishinoya reached up and delicately tucked a wayward lock of Asahi’s hair back. Calloused fingers brushed against the shell of his ear, lingering before dropping back into his lap. Asahi forgot how to breathe. Nishinoya looked as uncertain as Asahi had ever seen him: eyes wide, bottom lip caught on his teeth. 

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before,” Asahi replied faintly, for lack of anything else. 

“Said what to you?” Tanaka squawked, jutting his head between their seats. Again. 

“What the—” Asahi squeaked, startled. 

Nishinoya leaned past Tanaka to keep eye contact with Asahi. “I told him he looks good with his hair down.”

_Oh._

Tanaka rolled his head around to peer at Asahi, eyes squinting in consideration. He saw out of the corner of his eye Suga shift to slot just between his and Daichi’s seats, not terribly subtle in his attention. Asahi flagged under the scrutiny. 

“You’re like, rugged I guess,” Tanaka offered. “Not many guys can pull off longer hair, anyway.” 

“What a ringing endorsement, Tanaka,” Suga ribbed, “Asahi, don’t you worry, you’re the manliest of all my children. I’m proud to show you off to all the other mothers.” 

“Suga,” Asahi sighed, both grateful for Suga’s humor and wary of the quirked eyebrow thrown in his direction. 

Takeda neared their rows. “Glad to see you’re already awake. Make sure you don’t leave anything on the bus. Hinata, I’m looking at you,” he said kindly. Hinata whined. 

As the bus came to a halt, the team gingerly levered themselves up. Knocking elbows, they pushed at one another until they spilled out. As Asahi stumbled onto concrete, his breath puffed like smoke into the ether. They all knew Ukai was letting them cast off as they had follow up practice the following morning. In pairs and small groups, the boys began dispersing toward their respective homes, hands shoved into pockets and shoulders hunched into collars for warmth. 

Asahi moved to join Daichi and Suga when he felt a hand grasp his elbow. He was both surprised and not to see Nishinoya.

“Walk me to the train station,” Nishinoya directed. He was still holding his elbow. 

“Are you walking with us?” Daichi asked, a bit befuddled. It was a given that Nishinoya would join Tanaka, perhaps the other second years, and Asahi would make the final piece in their third-year trio. 

Suga patted Daichi on the shoulder and steered him away, explaining, “Nope, keep moving.” Suga looked back over his shoulder and had the gall to wink at him. 

_Mom, stop._

“You’re not walking with Tanaka?” Asahi wanted to confirm. 

“Do you want me to walk with Tanaka instead?” Nishinoya offered nonchalantly. But even Asahi could see tension pinching his expressive eyes. 

Asahi’s normal inclination was to waffle and seek validation that he wasn’t being an inconvenience. 

_I think it’s better to hope and be disappointed than to never feel anything at all._

“No,” Asahi stated and tugged Nishinoya toward the station. 

Silence continued. Asahi desperately wanted to say something, anything, to fill the void. He worried that Nishinoya was expecting him to speak. What if Nishinoya thought he was boring? What if he said something but it was stupid and would be worse than saying nothing? 

“My hands are cold,” Nishinoya interrupted. 

“Uh, yeah, mine too,” Asahi agreed, grateful for any starter. 

But Nishinoya didn’t elaborate. Asahi was prepared for a painfully quiet walk when Nishinoya huffed noisily. 

“You’re not gonna make any of this easy, are you?” the smaller boy asked. 

Asahi wasn’t sure what to make of that. He suspected, but was more terrified of getting the answer wrong. Instead, he replied slowly, “I’m afraid I don’t have any gloves you can borrow.” 

Nishinoya’s reply was a long-suffering sigh. He pointedly jerked his hand out from his jacket pocket and held it out to his side, fingers splayed. He kept walking, determinedly staring straight ahead. 

Hand outstretched, waiting.

Asahi’s stomach endured a crackle of anticipation. He hoped his hand wasn’t sweaty. Glancing down, Asahi took Nishinoya’s hand and clumsily tangled their fingers, stiff with cold and nerves. 

_Finally_ , Asahi thought he heard Nishinoya mumble, who promptly crammed their joined hands back into his pocket. Their walk resumed, again, in silence. Asahi didn’t know what he could say even if his life depended on it.

Lampposts smoldered in dusk, glimmering globes guiding Asahi down a path he wasn’t sure he was ready to take. He wished he could stop the endless track his fretting mind followed, at once telling him to run and to grasp Nishinoya’s hand harder. Asahi was secretly relieved to see the train station in sight because for better or worse, his source of worry would end soon. 

The station held pockets of stragglers, weary adults in their suits and a few bedraggled students looking forward to dinner. Asahi and Nishinoya unspokenly agreed to halt near an empty bench but neither sat down. It felt as if a whisper could break this moment of tension.

Distantly a rumble of engine made itself known, signaling the train would arrive shortly. Asahi had no clue how to proceed. _Was everyone supposed to intuitively know how these situations worked?_

Asahi finally looked down at Nishinoya, who was already looking up at him in return. Maintaining eye contact was brutal. He was afraid Nishinoya could honest-to-god read his mind by staring long enough. Just in case, he projected desperately that it would help if Nishinoya said something. 

“So,” Nishinoya started, which actually worried Asahi he _could_ read minds, “Do…do you know what you’re doing?”

“No,” Asahi blurted automatically. That was almost always how he answered that question. Nishinoya frowned briefly before his face smoothed. Wrong answer it seemed. 

Other than genuinely believing he could spontaneously combust at any moment, Asahi told himself the least he could do was be brave in this very moment. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but if you don’t mind me being… _me_ …then I’d like to figure it out with you.” 

Nishinoya smirked, shoulders loosening. “Well, if this were a movie, you’d kiss me as the train was pulling up.” 

Asahi’s confidence shriveled like paper curling in flame. 

Asahi glanced at Nishinoya’s mouth, then his wide eyes, then back to his mouth. It was a nice enough mouth, nothing scary about it, except it was attached to his friend’s face and words which escaped it had the power to destroy him but other than that—nothing scary. It was also in this instant that Asahi was painfully aware of their height difference. He couldn’t even subtly attempt to kiss him—if he were so inclined—he’d have to actively bend down and even then Nishinoya would have to try meeting him partway. 

He didn’t realize he was already tilting until Nishinoya’s hands pressed against his chest, then up his jacket to slide around his neck. One hand was colder than the other, the warmer of which tangled in his hair. The world outside them was a smudge of color and indistinguishable sound. Nothing else mattered as Asahi gently placed his hands on Nishinoya’s hips to steady himself lest he fade into the blur beyond. Nishinoya may have passed for calm in that moment except the stain of blush across the bridge of his nose. Asahi took comfort in knowing maybe Nishinoya felt as unsure as he did. It both did and did not quell anxiety so sharp it lanced his insides. Part of him knew exactly what he wanted—he was a red-blooded teenager. But sometimes the comfort of caution was easier to bear than the plummet of the unknown. 

Asahi bent at the waist. Blindly he met the corner of Nishinoya’s mouth, pulled back slightly, then slid to catch Nishinoya’s lip between his own. Nishinoya’s lips were a bit chapped but otherwise soft. Asahi hadn’t realized how cold his nose was until it bumped Nishinoya’s flushed cheek. He was painfully aware in that moment of both pleasure and gut-wrenching fear that he initiated physical contact. Nishinoya mouth opened against his in a gasp, felt his breath against his lips, the hitch of his chest against his own.

Asahi jerked back, moving more from panic than conscious decision. His immediate response was to look for any sign of disgust or rejection. All he could see was Nishinoya, tawny eyes blinking, lips parted, staring at Asahi as if he were a stranger. Asahi was locked in place, knees frozen, and still fettered by Nishinoya’s arms. 

_Sweet god, my body betrayed me and now I’ve ruined everything._

Without further thought, Asahi shuffled forward and engulfed Nishinoya in a hug. He was too afraid to see the expression on the other boy’s face. Although he would never say it aloud, Nishinoya’s compact size was ideal for this. It was all too easy for Asahi to perch his chin atop a mess of dark hair, long arms winding around a lithe body like ivy clinging to brick. The close contact was perfectly sweet and Asahi closed his eyes—partly afraid to face reality and partly to just enjoy the scent and heat and hard angles pressed against him. 

Asahi felt more than heard a huff of air near his shoulder, frosting and dissipating in seconds. There was shifting near his stomach, then to Asahi’s terror Nishinoya began unbuttoning his peacoat. _What fresh agony is this and does he know we’re in public_. But Nishinoya couldn’t hear his internal babble—or disregarded it, that was entirely possible—and took Asahi’s silence as an opportunity to wend his own slim arms inside his coat to fold into the layer of warmth between that and his sweatshirt. 

Asahi didn’t know what the protocol was for this. He so desperately wanted to be the cool, knowledgeable upperclassmen but frankly he was only a year older and stricken both literally and figuratively frozen. He and Nishinoya continued to exist entwined, breathing slowing and syncing until Asahi felt they were melting into each other. There were far worse deaths. 

A shuffle and a cough sounded closer than expected. They both tensed, leaning just far enough back to steal each other’s air. In a flash the world refocused, the train now looming, exhaling gusts of heat and vibration while swallowing passengers whole. 

Nishinoya slowly pulled back until Asahi either had to tighten his hold or let him go. He supposed with the train right there he didn’t have much option, but he wished he did. 

Nishinoya coughed into his hand, that elusive small smile back. “I guess that’s my cue to leave. See you in the morning?”

Asahi nodded, clueless and afraid and _elated_. 

***

Nishinoya sat on a park bench, ankles crossed. If he leaned back, the dappled light sifting through trees was just enough to make him squint. He watched a group of small children play nearby, doting parents expertly keeping an eye out whilst enjoying each other’s company. It was shaping up to be a lovely Saturday. Nishinoya would feel more at ease, however, if he wasn’t waiting for what he suspected was bad news based on a series of disjointed texts from Asahi which essentially signaled “panic” and “meet at our usual place.” 

Nishinoya and Asahi texted frequently, though it tended to be a string Nishinoya would start and Asahi would patiently and dutifully respond. The older boy took a while to feel comfortable initiating conversations as such, but once he learned that Nishinoya wouldn’t scoff at him, Asahi gradually opened up in simple, quiet ways through writing: 

_Look who I found on my walk! [picture of dog sent];_  
_Can I just curl up in a ball and die now;_  
_Anyone who says studying for finals is easy is lying to my face_

Nishinoya wished he could someday find a job that was as meaningful as creating responses of his own: 

_that’s the ugliest kid i've ever seen why’s it wearing a collar;_  
_no u can’t curl up where r u i'm coming over;_  
_i think no one in the history of school has ever said that what idiots r u hanging out with_

Nishinoya wouldn’t admit it to Asahi, but he was pleased they were developing this now. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Asahi just slip away once he graduated without another word. 

Nishinoya had plans. 

He was drawn out of reverie when he heard the nearby hoard of children gasp and scatter quickly back to their parents. Nishinoya turned to look and tried not to smile as Asahi carefully skirted the group, hangdog expression lamenting his woe at scaring the little ones. He would always get a kick out of knowing that the sweetest person he knew also wore a sign that said _give me your lunch money_. As Asahi neared, though, the look didn’t fade. Asahi practically collapsed onto the bench next to him, looking as if he were carsick. An envelope was crumpled in his fist. 

“I can’t, it’s—” Asahi heaved a gulping breath as his greeting, a vaguely hunted look behind his eyes. He thrust the envelope at Nishinoya, large hand trembling. “ _Please_.” 

Nishinoya frowned, accustomed to but still a bit at unease with this unbridled panic Asahi occasionally revealed. It was different than sheer nerves or anxiety. This was _fear_ , a shadow cast over eyes to steal sight and thus the ability to clearly read what may lie ahead. He looked at the enveloped, noting the embellished seal. 

“This looks like a letter from a college,” Nishinoya mused aloud before realizing what he was saying. His eyes widened in shock and delight. “Dude, is this an acceptance letter?”

“ _I don’t know!_ ” Asahi wailed, tears gathering in his eyes. “I can’t look, what if—“ 

“No.” Nishinoya commanded, calmly but firmly stopping that track. “Don’t go down that road. We both know ‘what ifs’ aren’t helpful. You want me to read this for you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Asahi breathed, still wild behind the eyes. 

Nishinoya thumbed the sealed flap, intent on tearing the edge with his thumbnail. It didn’t feel terribly heavy, but Nishinoya had no idea what college letters, for better and for worse, felt like. If this were an acceptance, shouldn’t there be more fanfare? He half-hoped a smattering of confetti would fall out if that were the case. 

He tried not to think of what other kind of letter it could be. 

Nishinoya made a mess of opening the envelope, but hesitated to pull out its contents. It didn’t feel right being the first witness of this news. Come what may, it wasn’t his next chapter unfolding. He sighed and handed it back to Asahi. “You know I can’t be the first person to read this, right?” 

Asahi opened his mouth, but no words left him. Whatever surge of panic paralyzed him had seemed to seep away until he was drained. The older boy stared down at the envelope like it was a trap, one rigged to explode upon unfolding. 

“I can’t do this,” Asahi admitted. 

“Yes, actually, you can. We can only work with what we know, right? And right now we don’t know jack shit what’s in that letter, so until you read it, we’re just gonna live on this bench.” 

Asahi sent him one last plaintive look, seeking permission he didn’t really want to escape. 

Nishinoya’s heart panged. “I think you’re done feeling stuck, aren’t you?” 

Asahi huffed a weak laugh, a few tears now lining his cheeks. He stared down at the envelope for a long breath before pulling out the paperwork, slowly unfolding. His eyes darted, tracking words, processing their message. Now Nishinoya felt the hot weight of nervousness, unable to read Asahi’s face. 

Finally, Asahi looked up at Nishinoya, eyes determined. 

“Looks like I know where I’m going.” 

_Fin_.

**Author's Note:**

> Every piece you write feels special and I appreciate you taking the time to read this--hopefully it leaves you with hope and a bit of happiness. 
> 
> Thank you for your consideration!


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